Tonight I miss my husband so much that I actually hurt.

That’s crazy.

We’ve been ships passing in the night for over a month now. Flying in for a restless night, partner’s bags packed for the morning. Heading off to tackle the next show, the next training, the next, the next, the next. Planning, scheduling, and traveling. Keeping up through shared itineraries and orchestrated hand-offs.

All day today it’s been pulling at my seams, threatening to unravel me. One unexpected struggle. One missed beat and suddenly I’ll be mere thread and buttons on the floor, waiting to be swept up by the next calendar event.

It’s nice, in a way, to realize that if you boil down the rushed schedules and unfinished chores, the “your turns” and sleepless nights, the different love languages and “can’t you share my hobbies?” over night after night of work trips, you are left with the sticky sweet, simplified truth:

I love that man. I crave time with him. His hand over mine. His arm over my shoulder, pulling me in. I love the crinkle of his eyes when he’s teasing me about something. And I miss him.